


Honey

by nevermindgrantaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, M/M, Partying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermindgrantaire/pseuds/nevermindgrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A party at Courfeyrac's place; Grantaire has given Combeferre free access to the liquor cabinet. Combeferre has used this oppertunity to get utterly wasted. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

 

 

 

Combeferre leaned heavily on the kitchen door frame and took a long swig of whatever the hell it was Grantaire had handed him when he walked in. It was his fourth, fifth, sixth, cup. Well, glass. Glass that was probably too big for the strength of alcohol that he was slurping down. A bottle hung from his other hand. And he didn’t usually drink but he’d figured oh well, might as well, just for one night, and somehow… Somehow...

 

He was utterly hammered.

 

Grinning into his glass, he huffed out a breath of laughter. Not exactly certain what it was that he found funny, he laughed anyway. He looked a whole load worse for wear, his usually pristine white shirt undone at the collar and with the sleeves rolled up so that everyone could see his tattoos, bright and bold against dark skin. At some point during the karaoke still ongoing in the living room he had lost his tie, too.

 

That was sad, actually.

 

He liked that tie.

 

Oh well. He still had half a bottle of strong… alcohol stuff. Might as well make use of it. He upended the bottle and managed to get about 2/3rds of it in his actual mouth. The rest spilled down his shirt and he frowned at it, willing it to go away with the power of his mind.

 

Someone bumped his shoulder as they passed and he shot them a terrifying look and stubbed his toe on the breakfast table.

 

Around him, music was swirling and thumping and pounding, and there were so many people that he had never met before in his life. That was always what it was like at Courfeyrac’s parties- they spent their whole lives together, practically joined at the hip, and yet he seemed to have a permanent supply of people that Ferre had never met before just to fill up the space in parties like this. Occasionally he would see little flashes of his friends passing though, and when Courfeyrac passed him next, he caught him by the sleeve.

 

“Hey!” He slurred excitedly. “Courfeyrac!”

 

Courf turned and saw him, his face lighting up. “Hey, I didn’t think you were going to come but then Bahorel said he saw you, and… are you ok?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” slurred Ferre, leaning against the wall but finding that his feet didn’t want to stay put and slowly sliding down towards the floor.

 

Courf took his arm gently and helped him up. “God, this is weird being the sober one out of the pair of us! What changed?”

 

Ferre tripped over nothing and sat down on the living room floor hard with a puff of air. His fringe flipped up as he sat and Courf held back a giggle. He was absolutely covered in glitter from head to toe, with pink body paint swirls up his arms. When he noticed Ferre staring, he blushed a little. “Marius did it for me.”

 

“Looks… weird.”

 

“Well don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel!” He joked.

 

“It’s too bright. But pretty. I like the flowers. But they’re far, far too bright. And I don’t like that girl’s dress, it’s too bright too. It's making my head hurt.”

 

He flapped a hand at a passing girl, clad in a neon-pink very short dress, who had moments ago been eyeing him up. The tall dark and handsome boy in the white shirt and glasses suddenly seemed a much less promising prospect when he started talking. She scowled and stalked off.

 

Courf glanced at her, apologetic. “Sorry, dude.” Then, to Combeferre, “Oh my god, you drunk is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

“I’m not drink!”

 

Wait, that wasn’t right. Courfeyrac was grinning at him like a cheerful lemur and Ferre eyed him suspiciously.

 

“No wait, I’m not drink drunk. Drunk! I’m not druunk!” He sing-songed and Courf chuckled.

 

“It’s a shame I leant Joly my camera or I would be filming this right now,” he informed him, his sideways smirk lighting up his face.

 

“Actually.” Combeferre lurched into him and bumped shoulders a little too hard. “I think I might be a little drunk.” He confided in a loud whisper. “I’m a bit too drunk, Courf.”

 

“Yeah, you would be. You’re not used to drinking this much, and,” he frowned. “What have you been drinking, anyway?”

 

“Green stuff. R gave it to me.” He paused. “I like R. She’s… funny. And she gives me green stuff. I like the green stuff too! Hey, give that back!”

 

Courfeyrac had plucked the bottle out of his hands and was checking the back of the bottle. “Christ, that’s strong! I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

 

“I’m still standing, stronger than I ever been! Yeah, I’m still standing, yeah yeah yeah!” Ferre warbled and then frowned. “Wait, why am I singing?”

 

“No idea.” Courf said good-naturedly. “Ok so I think you need to go have a little lie down, alright with you?”

 

Ferre nodded. “I’m sleepy.”

 

“C’mon then.” Slinging an arm around his best friend’s shoulders he helped him up the stairs where the music was quieter and into his bedroom, and let him flop onto the bed. He sat beside him, gently untying the tie from around his head and putting it over the back of a chair alongside the discarded bottle of green stuff.

 

“That’s where that went!” Combeferre exclaimed, turning round suddenly with an uncharacteristically wide grin, and suddenly found himself far too close to Courfeyrac for comfort. He could feel the warmth radiating from his friend’s thin shirt and ok, either he was moving or Courf was moving but then the rest of the room was moving too and not normal, not what was meant to be happening at all but someone moved closer and then they were kissing.

 

He felt hands slide around his head and tangle in his hair and absently thought that he would be able to see this a whole lot better if he hadn’t lost his glasses in a bet with Bahorel. Then he wondered where Courfeyrac had put the green stuff. He was thirsty. And happy because he found his tie. And… Wait. Kissing?

 

It was a bit like drowning in warm milk and honey, a sweet, warm kiss that made Courf pull back to gasp for air and that made him chase the taste of his lips. The sort of kiss that reminds you of your first kiss, that takes you all the way back to kindergarten playing kiss chase and feels like it should taste of bubble-gum, smell like Crayola and washing liquid, look like chalk dust on the playground and gappy toothed smiles and sweaty hands from not letting go the whole way home. The way it should be when you kiss your best friend.

 

The background noise, music and shouting, seemed to fade to white noise a little and Combeferre twisted his hands into the fabric of the duvet. He knew his best friend’s scent off by heart, knew his honey-flavour shampoo and his cologne stuff, the kind he always put on when he was in a flirting mood. He could taste alcohol, sweet and sickly cocktails of some kind, just like Courf liked them. Something fruity with pineapple stuff, bubbly and fizzy and sparkly with a little umbrella to stop the drink from getting rained on. Or something. Courfeyrac made a happy little squeak noise and Ferre shifted slightly, accidentally bumping their noses together. Forcing his eyes shut, Ferre twisted deeper into the kiss.

 

When Courf pulled back for good, Ferre sat back and appraised him for a moment. “Feel anything?”

 

“Um.” Courfeyrac bit his lip. “What about you?”

 

“It was…” Combeferre paused, thinking to begin with and then zoning out so that Courf had to snap his fingers in front of his face.

 

“Dude!”

 

“Sorry. Yeah. What were we talking about?”

 

“It was…?”

 

“It was… Good. I think. I’d quite like to do it again, only probably when I’m sober and when you don’t taste like pineapple alcohol because pineapple alcohol is gross.” He shrugged. “But…”

 

“What?”

 

“You like sex.”

 

Courfeyrac blinked in shock at the bluntness, and leaned back a little. “Yes?”

 

“I don’t.” Combeferre shrugged drunkenly. “At all. It’s icky.”

 

“Ah.”

“But I like you. And I don’t want you to not like me because I don’t like it.”

 

Courf nodded. “I liked it too. And I want to do it some more. And I won’t stop liking you just because you don’t want to have sex.”

 

“Thank god.” Combeferre burrowed down into the duvet so that it was wrapped round him like a super hero cape. Or like a burrito.

 

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac grinned, somehow permeating the awkwardness. “We can work it out.”

 

Yawning again, Ferre pulled his arm so that he was lying down in the bed beside him. “Look. Don’t think I’m weird or anything but…”

 

Courfeyrac sat up. “You are very drunk right now, so please don’t say anything you’ll regret, love.”

 

He nodded. “It’s pretty much why I’m drunk.” There was a pause. “Courf, I’m ace.”

 

“Hell yeah, you’re hella ace at everything!”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“It’s not a big deal.” The smaller boy threw an arm round his shoulder, awkwardly in the small space. “I don’t… mind or anything, if that’s what you were expecting.”

 

“No, I just… I don’t know.” He said, smiling in an airy, spaced out way. “You know?”

 

Courfeyrac laughed, and leaned back on the bed. “It was definitely nice though.”

 

 

“Ok.” Combeferre said happily. “Now stop talking. I want to sleep.”

 

“Ok then. Night night.” From under the blanket, Ferre’s arm snaked out and flapped at him languidly.

 

“Night…”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Ferre?”

 

His only answer was a loud snore.

 

“Oh, ok then,” Courfeyrac shrugged, scrubbing a hand through his hair and smiling to himself. “That’s cool.” He tried to slide out of his bed as quietly as he could, but this arm was trapped under Ferre the blanket burrito. He sighed softly, fondly, and flicked out the bedside table lamp. “Night, dude.”


End file.
